


“Have I mentioned, I fucking hate Halloween.”

by evakuality



Series: tumblr dialogue prompts [11]
Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode 4, Halloween pregame, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 17:30:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20549999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evakuality/pseuds/evakuality
Summary: They’re on the move, Even cycling, his legs pumping hard just to get them far enough from the area that Emma and Sonja won’t be able to track them down when they get out of the bathroom.Canon compliant missing moment, set around the Halloween pregame





	“Have I mentioned, I fucking hate Halloween.”

“Have I mentioned, I fucking hate Halloween.”

There’s an almost savage quality to Even’s voice as he shouts back over his shoulder, and Isak jolts out of his thoughts, startled by the announcement. They’re on the move, Even cycling, his legs pumping hard just to get them far enough from the area that Emma and Sonja won’t be able to track them down when they get out of the bathroom.

Isak feels a stab of guilt at that thought; as much as he’d wanted this time alone with Even, it doesn’t seem quite kind to have left the girls behind in this way. Particularly when Sonja was so obviously upset by something Even had said or done.

“No,” Isak says, throwing his head back far enough to see the blinding white of Even’s wig glinting in the streetlights, as if seeing it will give him some insight into why this is coming up right now. “No, you didn’t mention that.”

“I _ thought _ it might be good this year, though. That this pregame might be a good time.”

Even turns his head as he speaks, to watch the street ahead of them, meaning Isak loses track of his words; it’s far more difficult to discern from that angle so he may not be hearing right, or only hearing what he wants to. Still, Even’s intention is fairly obvious and the tone easy to make out. 

The ferocity is gone from Even’s voice now and in its place is a soft wistfulness. Isak gets that, knows that feeling intimately. There was so much promise buzzing in the air a week ago before Noora had come in and shattered the illusion of their bubble. The tension hadn’t died off, though, and Isak had thought, or maybe hoped, that the suggestion of pregaming together might be a follow up on that promise. Had hoped that maybe Even felt something too.

But then … Sonja and Emma. 

Their presences are as stifling as Noora’s, and all the frustration that came along with that has been building all evening to this point. Through the casual, boring chatter about age and school, to this point where the girls took offense at something and Even had suggested getting out of there. To this point where Even is cycling as if his life depends on it and Isak is holding on, his hands resting on Even’s body. He’s second guessing every moment, moving them from spot to spot because he’s not sure what he’s allowed. If he should even be touching at all. 

Because it’s been so _ hard _ to read Even this last week.

They almost kissed, and that had seemed like the start of something, a shimmering vista of possibility opening when they next saw each other. And Even’s eyes when he suggested the pregame... there had seemed to be something in them, something that made Isak’s knees weak and his breath catch. And yet … 

And yet … Even had told Sonja about the pregame and Even had sat next to Sonja and Even hadn’t really shown any further interest in Isak at all.

Except.

Except there’s a quality in Even’s voice now. That wistful, longing tone. And so Isak is starting to hope again. That promise is back, fizzing in him, flaring every time his fingers touch Even’s body and feel the heat through his flimsy clothing. His heart is both light as air, floating, trying to free itself from the confines of his body, and almost painful in its fleshy cage. The hope that’s bleeding into his fingertips from those myriad touches is making the beats of that heart so loud, so heavy that he wants to finish this, to make it one thing or the other.

Hope.

Or despair.

Feeling bold, deciding to push for once, deciding to go after what he really wants and fuck whatever risk that takes, Isak grips harder for a moment. “It can still be a good time,” he says. “The pregame, I mean. We can still enjoy it.”

With the wind whipping past his ears from the speed at which Even is making the bike move, Isak’s not even sure if he’s been heard. But Even glances back over his shoulder, grinning. His eyes are lit up, and Isak lets his hope take over even more. There’s something in those eyes, a return of the intensity from last week maybe, that sparks something in Isak in return.

Despair loses.

So when Even stops them and leads Isak into a house (breaks into a house, really, even if Isak is willing to let the lie sit as if truth), there’s a certain inevitability in what happens next.

In the banter

In the pool

In the competition

In the kiss.

It’s breathless as it builds. Isak’s body is on fire despite the freezing water, and the ease of the teasing can’t quite mask his growing tension. 

Then there’s no teasing at all. Just looks and bodies suspended in the water, a physical representation of the bubble of promise Noora broke and which has been trying to reform ever since.

Under the water, everything seems to slow, and to still, as Even brushes his hair off his face and moves closer. The painful beats of Isak’s heart are louder and louder in his ears as it tries harder to break free from this cage he’s kept it in, and he can’t quite breathe. Which is illogical anyway; they’re under water. Of course they can’t breathe. But this feels different, breathless for a whole new reason. 

In the barely light space, everything stops.

Stills.

Even’s lips are on his. 

The world restarts, goes faster, they burst onto the surface of the water just as Isak’s heart bursts from his happiness, explodes his joy all over his face for everyone to see. For _ Even _ to see.

The same joy is reflected on Even’s face, clear despite the words they’re saying. Clear despite the pretence of the game. So they kiss again. Then again and again. All the things that have built over the last week (or weeks, since Kosegruppa if Isak’s being truthful), zing in his body. It’s heady, freeing, joy, a buzzing delight that can’t be controlled, flares of heat from every spot Even’s hands touch him.

The interruption can’t quite ruin anything.

Fleeing just fuels Isak’s delight even more, his feet light with happiness and the relief that he wasn’t imagining anything..

They’re outside, running, the bike pushed between them because getting on would take too long. They’re folded over laughing as they run in freezing clothes that slap wetly around ankles and stick uncomfortably in too many places. They stop running eventually, when they judge the distance to be big enough and the need to touch is great enough. 

The chill is bone deep now as Isak looks up and into Even’s eyes, but it hardly registers.

He touches, feels the chill pushed away by his fingertips on Even’s hip. Then it’s Even’s lips on his again, hungry, as if he can’t quite get enough now they started. It’s still cold, freezing in their wet clothes and their bodies shiver, shuddering as they register what their brains try to ignore. One tiny part of Isak’s brain fixates on it, frets about the frigid air, their freezing clothes and the potential for pain and sickness later. But so much of him is swept up in the moment, in the feeling of Even’s hands on his back or cupped on his face. So big and warm where they caress. His lips, also warm enough to block out the reality of the situation. 

So Isak gives in to it, dives in for another kiss and another and another. Lets the warmth of Even’s hands still the trembling in his body. Lets himself have this moment.

“Have I mentioned,” Even whispers when they break apart, his forehead coming to rest on Isak’s, giving warmth there too, and around a crinkly smile that tells Isak everything he needs to know. “Have I mentioned that I fucking love Halloween?”


End file.
